


Definitely Maybe

by berryboys



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berryboys/pseuds/berryboys
Summary: Taeyong sees through him, through his wounds and flaws, and knows Yuta is a disaster, a mistake of the universe, a boy taught to love by the devil.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this [johnten](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7377907), you may know yutae was the side pairing in that fic. Both fics can be read separately, and in fact this yutae happens before, during and after the johnten.  
> A lot of people hated Yuta in that fic, but I kept saying that he was my favorite character (and right now, he’s probably my favorite character among all the fics I’ve written) so I had to justify it somehow. This fic is the justification lol  
> Betaed by the lovely [koshitsu_kamira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/koshitsu_kamira), as usual ^^

There are many reasons why 15-year-old Yuta doesn’t question Minho’s intentions when he’s pushed against the bed.

 

Minho is two years older than him, their families are friends, and Yuta looks up at him with endless adoration. He isn’t sure when he realized he liked boys, even less when he liked Minho, but it probably happened at the exact same moment. The situation they’re experiencing is a replica of what has happened two months ago: after having dinner, Minho led him to his room, where their parents wouldn’t disturb them, and while he showed Yuta his CD collection, he slid a hand up his thigh. It had been inoffensive at first. Or so Yuta thought, having no experience, completely unaware of what he could like or dislike.

 

By the time Minho’s hand is on his leg again, Yuta has already discovered that he does like boys, the feeling of a boy’s lips pressed against that sensitive spot on his neck. Yuta has skinship with other teenage boys all the time, yet every time Minho touches him, it’s different. Despite his initial shock, Yuta isn’t innocent, not even before Minho kisses him, insists that he _needs_ him. But Minho is older than him, has been dating one of his classmates for three years, and as good as it feels when Minho caresses him with his firm hands, lures him with his firm words, Yuta isn’t a fool. He never believes he is important for him.

 

That’s a thought that always remains, hovers over him since his first kiss to the day Minho leaves for another country to attend college. It’s a thought that becomes a feeling, that intensifies when his parents discover he’s gay and forbid him – completely ban him - from mentioning it again. From acting on it.

 

Yuta is certain, after Minho abandons him, that he is the devil. He might have never known what he was if Minho hadn’t shown up in his life, perfect, beautiful, a drug in human form that out of the blue explained all the unresolved mysteries of Yuta’s life. Why isn’t he attracted to his pretty neighbor, a nice, gorgeous girl with brown hair and long legs? Why does he prefer to have lunch with the handsome senior that ruffles his hair and says he’s cute? And once Minho leaves, questions answered, Yuta is alone and scared. He doesn’t have anyone to remind him that it’s _fine_ , that he can kiss a boy, that he can be in love with a boy.

 

But it doesn’t matter. Yuta isn’t important, and he doesn’t trust boys. He doesn’t trust family. And overall, he doesn’t trust any type of love.

 

 

 

 

Seo Youngho is a cool guy.

 

Or that’s what Yuta’s best friend, Jaehyun, promised him. He didn’t explain why he knew Youngho, who lives in another city, or gave him any reasons why Yuta should trust him, but he was in an urgent need to find an apartment. It has to do, mainly, with the fact that he was on the waiting list for the university, so he received the admission a month ago. He had nothing ready to leave home, and therefore he decided to accept Jaehyun’s idea without checking the place first.

 

What Jaehyun didn’t tell him, however, was how gorgeous Seo Youngho is. And although Yuta can talk to pretty boys, and in fact, he’s really good at it (too much of an expert, Jaehyun always whines), he becomes speechless in front of him. The _specimen_ that is staring right at him is perfect, piercing dark eyes, heart-shaped mouth and an angelic face that has to have been carved by the gods themselves. Yuta doesn’t believe in any god, but if a person like Youngho exists, then there must be a superior entity controlling his existence.

 

“Hi?” he greets, fidgeting at the door. For a moment, the boy wears the ghost of a smirk, as though he realizes the effect he’s having on his new housemate. Yuta attempts to compose himself, to not sound like an inexperienced kid going through puberty, voice cracking. “I’m Yuta, you must be…”

 

“Lee Taeyong,” he replies and then, upon Yuta’s confused silence, he clarifies with a smile, “Your other housemate. Youngho is shopping.”

 

That answers why Jaehyun didn’t mention that Youngho, actually Lee Taeyong, is hot as fuck. Is this some type of punishment for Yuta’s bad behavior? For sleeping around? He’s weak for cute, handsome boys, but being fascinated by someone who is going to share a house with him isn’t the ideal scenario.

 

“Aren’t you going to get in?” Taeyong asks him from inside, and it isn’t until he points it out that Yuta notices he’s still at the entrance, suitcase in hand. His eyes follow Taeyong’s movements, his back view, the curve of his butt and the long, graceful legs, and Yuta feels a lump growing in his throat. “Do you prefer sleeping outside as our guard dog?”

 

Madly blushing, both at the teasing and his own thoughts, Yuta steps in.

 

It begins like that.

 

 

 

 

Yuta creates a mental list of the things he learns in the first month living with Youngho and Taeyong. First, Youngho is in love with a guy named Ten, who happens to be Taeil’s cousin and who is a year younger than them, hence Youngho left him behind in their town. Even with Ten being absent, Yuta stills knows; that’s how grave their relationship is. Their love story, as Yuta calls it in a sarcastic tone, sprang ages ago. And Yuta doesn’t believe in that shit. Ten must be a nice memory in Youngho’s mind, and the time and the impossibility to confess, the impossibility of being together made them idolize each other.

 

Second, Taeyong hates men. Not men in general, just men that hit on him, which is a situation that takes place too often. Even if Yuta considers how beautiful Taeyong is, the amount of dates he renounces is unbelievable.

 

Actually, it’s quite hard to ignore Taeyong’s perfection, and Yuta understands his immense popularity: sometimes he finds himself subtly praising his housemate too, suggestive comments and light touches that don’t go unnoticed by Taeyong. It isn’t a rational process, for Yuta is drawn to him like he’s dreaming, and though he would prefer not to embarrass himself, aware that he’s going to be rejected, it’s always too late. Taeyong always establishes the limits, way more polite with Yuta than with the rest. Maybe because they should keep a peaceful cohabitation. Maybe because Taeyong sees through him, through his wounds and flaws, and knows Yuta is a disaster, a mistake of the universe, a boy taught to love by the devil.

 

Taeyong never smiles when Yuta tries to flirt with him, when Yuta takes his hand under the blanket while they watch a movie, or when he makes breakfast for him so that he can sleep a little longer. He says, _do you know how many times I’ve heard that?_ He sighs, _I’m into serious relationships_. He looks into Yuta’s eyes and his expressions screams, _I would try, but I know who you really are._

 

 

 

 

Yuta is aware he’s not an outcast, but it’s hard to remember. When his college life begins, he doesn’t feel that bundle of nerves in his stomach, like the rest of the students on their first day. He doesn’t anticipate the opportunities displayed in front of him, the motivational speeches of the teachers, the new friends he will make; instead, he’s only able to feel one thing, so intense that it deafens all his senses: he’s far, far away from his parents, from the fear, from his self-hate. There’s not a single ounce of guilt in his body the first time he whispers sweet words into his classmate’s ear during a party and allows himself to be fucked in the closest bathroom they find. He doesn’t think of his parents, like he used to do back in his town every time he even glanced at a pretty boy. There’s just pleasure, an orgasm hitting him so hard that he would faint if it wasn’t because he doesn’t want to miss out, and a part of him yells that he has to repeat, repeat, _repeat_.

 

Yuta isn’t an outcast, but no one reminds him. At home, Taeyong and Youngho have a stronger friendship than he could ever dream of having with someone else. Youngho always denies he misses Ten, yet Yuta catches him talking about it with Taeyong. They share secrets, confide in each other, and leave Yuta out of it. It’s not on purpose. Yuta is the one who distances himself, scared of spilling his own secrets, of not being accepted, and though it’s natural for him to suppose his friends will notice it, they don’t. It’s then that Yuta realizes how thick his shell is.

 

“I’m kinda curious about Ten,” Yuta admits one day during lunch, when he’s alone with Youngho, and laughs loudly when his housemate chokes on the food at such statement.

 

They’re eating on the couch, since that week it’s Taeyong’s turn to clean, but he’s at class and can’t scold them (he loves when Taeyong gets all bossy, Yuta doesn’t deny it). He has managed his way onto Youngho’s lap, warm and comfortable, and big enough for him to fit in the circle his legs draw. Youngho only accepts cuddling with him if Taeyong isn’t around, as though he’s cheating on him, so Yuta has jumped on him as soon as he realized they had some privacy. It’s one of those silent codes: Taeyong and Yuta are banned from doing anything more than eventual hugs and some hand holding, while Youngho can snuggle anyone, even if one of them is kept a secret.

 

Yuta supposes that’s because Youngho doesn’t want to see Taeyong naked, unlike him.

 

“Curious about Ten?” Youngho paraphrases after coughing, a tinge of panic seeping through at the mere mention of him. He recovers fast, however, and pinches Yuta on his neck with the clear intent of hurting him. He grunts, “Don’t be.”

 

Despite the pain in his neck, Yuta doesn’t repress his laughter. He tilts his head back to look up at Youngho, although he basically ends up staring at the bottom of his chin. “Is that jealousy?” he taunts, pleased.

 

Youngho scoffs. “Already told you I don’t like him.”

 

“So if he’s dating someone right now, I don’t know, maybe one of his high school classmates, you’re okay with that?”

 

Judging the profound, tense silence emanating from Youngho, Yuta has pushed the right button. Or the wrong button, if he analyzes it from his friend’s point of view.

 

“I hate you,” Youngho whines in a mutter. That always awes Yuta, the spectrum of Youngho’s personality: he’s sarcastic and not very mindful of his words, but when it comes to Ten, he becomes an immature kid that needs love advice, that sulks around until someone cheers him up. “I don’t force you to talk about Taeyong.”

 

There is coldness in Yuta’s stomach, and as he dissects that remark, the real meaning behind it, he just thinks about running away. This is a topic he would rather not discuss. Even when he’s alone and his thoughts inevitably float towards Taeyong, towards his soothing voice and fond, childish smiles, or his vibrant, shameless laughter, Yuta blocks it. He prefers to remember the flesh of his thighs, the lines of his stomach when his shirt rides up and Yuta can take a peek; it’s easier to accept Taeyong wants someone much better than him if Yuta sees him only as a pretty carapace.

 

But that’s a lie. Under the mask, Taeyong is pretty too, absolutely gorgeous. And Yuta can’t breathe. “Is there anything to discuss about him?”

 

“Yuta,” Youngho warns him.

 

“It’s hopeless,” Yuta explains, no need to receive the question first. Any friend would encourage him to chase after Taeyong, yet Youngho doesn’t: he knows more than he shows. There’s an air of fragility between them, one that has been there since the first week, as though both of them are standing on the edge of a cliff, contemplating if they should jump. Yuta didn’t know until now that Youngho was aware of it as well.

 

Youngho strokes the side of Yuta’s face, his hair, his neck, and doesn’t emit a single sound when Yuta leans against his hand, mutely asking for more. He’s hungry for touch, that isn’t sexual, that isn’t romantic, and makes him feel like he’s not alone.

 

Softly, Youngho insists, “You don’t know that.”

 

But Yuta does. “I won’t ever love anyone.”

 

That’s the end of it. Youngho doesn’t dare to question him further, conscious that Yuta’s voice dies with a shade of terrible resolve. Maybe he expects the opposite clarification: that Taeyong will never love Yuta in any way. But Youngho doesn’t understand that’s not the real problem, the reason why Taeyong keeps the distance and Yuta follows him.

 

Yuta senses Youngho’s eyes on him, curious, and even with his secret on the table, somehow he has never been safer in his whole life.

 

 

 

 

Drunk Taeyong is an entirely different person who, to be honest, Yuta isn’t very fond of. The party is fun at first, when the three of them are slightly tipsy, laughing at the most nonsensical things and dancing with any stranger that approaches them. Yuta loves it this way, when they don’t need words to have fun, when he giggles and Taeyong and Youngho follow him as if they understand. When it’s just the moment, no time to ponder, to invent insecurities and doubts. He could laugh at his own pathetic self right now and his friends would play along, telling him that he’s right but that it’s fine.

 

Surrounded by the loud music, it’s the three of them until Youngho bumps into his classmates and they drag him to play some drinking game that Yuta isn’t disposed to join. Or rather, he’s preventing Taeyong from joining.

 

“Don’t accept weed from anyone,” Youngho nags them as the girl pulls him through the crowded room. Though Taeyong nods like the good kid he is, Yuta doesn’t, so he screams, “I’m serious!”

 

Once Youngho is out of sight, Taeyong turns to playfully glower at Yuta. It’s not a rare expression on him, for that’s his way of complaining if they get under his skin. Yuta reckons Taeyong is too nice to get angry at anyone, and when he’s indeed offended, he tends to be sullen instead of vocally angry. Even while being drunk, he is incapable of letting go of that trait of his personality.

 

It doesn’t take much for Yuta to discover that Taeyong does change in other aspects, sincerity transforming into demands and naughty hands. When Taeyong encircles his neck and hangs off with a low whine, Yuta is petrified. His body reacts on its own, holding Taeyong by the waist so that he regains his balance, but that’s a bad idea. The warmth of Taeyong’s skin permeates through the clothes, makes his fingertips numb with a penetrating tingling.

 

“Don’t you go find another boy,” Taeyong orders, lips barely pursed in a pout. “Don’t leave me alone.”

 

He rests his head in the crook of Yuta’s neck, no warning, no cure for how Yuta loses the ability to argue with himself. Hoping that Taeyong won’t remember anything, he doesn’t push away, hands pressing Taeyong’s back to drive him closer. And then Taeyong laughs, and it resounds on his skin, travels inside his system.

 

Taeyong confesses, “I fucking hate myself.”

 

There are confidences that are meant to be spilled out in a place like this. In a moment like this. Yuta doesn’t expect Taeyong to hate himself, but as soon as he admits it, Yuta knows the reason. Taeyong doesn’t believe he’s important either, and sees only what the rest made of him: a flawless appearance, and nothing more. Empty inside. And he’s afraid of letting Yuta in and being discarded afterwards, like that would be the confirmation of his fear.

 

Yuta cradles him between his arms, leaning against a wall, and Taeyong allows both of them to break the silent code. It’s just them, they don’t mind how congested the party is; in that corner of theirs, the feeling of Taeyong against his body is all that matters. Yuta gasps, “You have no idea. You’re perfect.”

 

Much to his surprise, Taeyong laughs again. His nose brushes Yuta’s collarbones when he moves to stare up at him, eyes lucid for a second. “Yuta, why are you such a mess?” he mutters. “I want you to be okay.”

 

Because the answer would hurt him, Yuta doesn’t respond. Drunk Taeyong is free of his sensitiveness, pries and touches the old wounds. In Yuta’s mind, Minho’s hand slips on his thigh again, and again, and again.

 

Taeyong presses a kiss on the corner of his lips, almost in fear, and when he separates a bit to look at Yuta once more, there’s a delicate frown on his face. He asks the magical question, the same question Yuta asks himself every day, “Can I fix you?”

 

Yuta yearns for it, but it’s inconceivable, and it’s bad that when Taeyong proposes, it feels like it could happen. So Yuta lies, “No. I’m not broken.”

 

Right away, Taeyong knows it’s a lie. This time, his chuckle brings all the bitterness possible with it, and Taeyong rests his head against him again, giving up, aware that Yuta isn’t going to reveal that secret of his.

 

“You’re a bit broken,” he disagrees, and he makes it sounds like it won’t be forever. Yuta closes his eyes, drowns himself in that tiny trace of hope that Taeyong’s voice grants him. “I wonder who did it.”

 

Yuta wonders too.

 

 

 

 

Every time they meet Hansol and Taeil, who are long time friends with Youngho, Taeyong sticks to Yuta like a leech. It’s true it’s quite intimidating to hang out with them, not because they are older than them, or because Hansol has a characteristic judging expression when Yuta says something stupid – which happens often. The issue is that Hansol and Taeil fit with Youngho so well that, if the three of them are together, Yuta and Taeyong can’t understand half of their conversations. Yuta gets on well with Hansol though, and they schedule dates to play basketball at least once a week, regardless of the fact that Hansol kicks his ass every time. Youngho tags along too sometimes, but the rest of the guys aren’t much into sports.

 

Yuta likes it when they are all together. At home, Taeyong either chides him or dismisses him like a kid, and even if sometimes it looks like they’re progressing, they always return to the starting point. However, in situations like this one, in which Youngho isn’t babying him, he searches for shelter in Yuta.

 

“It’s cold,” he excuses himself as he links their arms together, scowling at Yuta’s confused reaction.

 

Taeil and Youngho aren’t close enough to hear him, but Hansol is, so he bursts into laughter at the justification. The day is ashy, gray clouds blocking the sun, but Taeyong’s cheeks are tinted with the most tempting red Yuta has ever seen.

 

“Shut up,” Yuta grunts at Hansol, who keeps laughing even after Yuta pushes him forward so that he walks ahead. Taeyong tightens his grip in gratitude, and Yuta’s breath hitches at the proximity; he wishes he was always this open. Avoiding glancing at Taeyong, he hums, “Then I owe the cold a favor.”

 

It’s a risky reply, because that type of response is what usually seals Taeyong’s frankness, what makes him press his lips in a thin line and shake him off. Yuta doesn’t know what’s different or when it began to be, but as he dares to gaze at Taeyong, the boy has a coy smile painted on his face.

 

Eyelashes fluttering, Taeyong sighs, “Don’t say anything more, Yuta.”

 

 

 

 

The peace is broken when the period of exams arrive. Taeyong, the calmest one by far, is unsurprisingly the first one to break down, throwing a shoe at Yuta’s head when he leaves the milk carton empty in the fridge four times in a row on the same week. The three of them are stressed, since they have never faced university finals, and none of them can afford failing. Yuta would have to go back home if he did, as he’s living on a scholarship, and that’s the last place he wants to set foot in the whole world.

 

His management of stress isn’t very exemplary. He knows the consequences, attempts to hold back and remind himself that Taeyong is so nice to him, looks so serene having a decent version of him around. Yuta really tries, but there are deeper voices in his head that persuade him to think only of himself. And a little bit of self-destruction is indulging when he’s under pressure, a way of releasing his worries and focus on the pain.

 

The first one that ends up in his bed is a tall, unnamed guy that doesn’t have enough time to introduce himself before Yuta proposes him to fuck. He treats Yuta like he presents himself: a pastime, a toy that will do whatever in exchange for sex. Yuta forgets the name of the second boy as soon as he has his dick in his mouth. After the third he loses count, nights and days mix in a blur of moans, scratches, bites and books. It’s perfect, for he doesn’t have to ponder about feelings and his schedule doesn’t allow him enough time to regret.

 

It’s during the second week that, when he wakes up, Taeyong is waiting for him in the living room with his arms crossed. Youngho is behind him, so confused that it’s obvious Taeyong has dragged him there in a fit of rage, but Yuta reckons they need Youngho so that this doesn’t become a couple fight. Which, in some sense, it is anyhow.

 

“I want to make a rule about bringing people home,” Taeyong sputters, eyes fixed on Yuta’s face as though he would set him on fire if it was legal.

 

There are hidden words in that statement, in the way his shoulders tense as Yuta steps forward, but it’s not necessary to talk about it. Yuta isn’t going to be the brave one. He has a man in his bed, and Taeyong looks sick, repulsed, not only for tonight, but for the rest of the nights too.

 

It maddens him. He has the urge to corner Taeyong and force him to spit out what he _really_ wants to say. That he’s a slut? He knows that. That Taeyong hates guys like him, that he hates him in particular? He knows that.

 

“It’s none of your business if I fuck someone in my room.” Yuta smiles, like he did when Minho left him, or when his mother slapped him after catching him with his hand in his neighbour’s pants. And then, because he’s aware of the reasons why it annoys Taeyong, he defies him, “It shouldn’t bother you.”

 

 _Shouldn’t it?_ Taeyong’s gaze says. Yet his mouth talks a different language, plays a different game, “I live here. Those people you _fuck_ in your room have a place themselves too. Don’t come here with them.”

 

Taeyong doesn’t vacillate, at least on the outside, and Youngho stares at them with his mouth open, like he’s realizing what this discussion is about. As much as Yuta loves Youngho, he would prefer to keep him out of this mess; he’s going to sweep Taeyong along anyway to hell with him, but Youngho doesn’t deserve it.

 

“ _We_ live here. It’s my house too. My room,” he reasons, throat hoarse. It’s a bad excuse, because they have a cohabitation policy, and he should be disposed to consider his housemate’s request. Courtesy isn’t his forte because he likes getting on Taeyong’s nerves.

 

Taeyong doesn’t react, expression neutral. His gaze roams over Yuta for a single second, dissecting him like an insect, and arches a brow, “Do you want me to kick them out by myself? Because I will. Starting from the loser you have in your room.”

 

That catches Yuta off guard. Not because it’s a threat, but because Taeyong strides towards his room without waiting for an answer. A part of him is terrified: one thing is to know Yuta sleeps with strangers, another is to watch the scene of the morning after; the other part of him wishes Taeyong gets hurt and leaves him alone in his misery.

 

Fear wins, hands shooting up to grab Taeyong by the waist. It’s not surprising that he squirms to be released, but Yuta is stronger, and he’s scared. There’s a temper in the way Taeyong looks at him that is new, that informs him that this is his limit, and if Yuta continues on this path, it will get ugly between them.

 

Yuta pants, heart hammering in his chest, Taeyong’s fragile hips in his hands. “Look, I don’t know what fucking problem you have with sex, but-”

 

“It’s you who have a problem with sex! This is fucked up!” he yells, interrupting him. The accusation makes him loosen his grip, and Taeyong darts away and collides against the wall behind him with a groan. He needs several seconds to process what he has done, the reason why Yuta has given up all at once on the attempt to stop him. “I didn’t mean-”

 

Yuta stares at the floor, unable to cope with the sudden pity reflected in Taeyong’s eyes. “You meant it.”

 

It hurts because it’s true, but not only because of that. Taeyong is conscious there’s an emotional switch inside Yuta that fails to function, hence he’s stuck on the same mode all the time; there’s a story behind it, something Yuta wants to forget about. It’s one of those topics that shouldn’t be spoken of out loud, and though Yuta understands Taeyong isn’t in his right mind in that instant, it’s a betrayal of his trust.

 

Taeyong realizes too late, seizes Yuta’s wrist just to be harshly shoved away, and he mutters an apology that reaches deaf ears. Yuta encloses himself in his room, ignoring the sleeping lump on the bed, and despite how unsettled he is, there’s a strange security in not being exposed to Taeyong’s judgement. Of course, he’s safe there, as long as this stranger keeps occupying his sheets; Taeyong was just fooling him, he wouldn’t dare to step inside.

 

 

 

 

As though the situation wasn’t bad enough, Youngho leaves the house that night to study at the library. Yuta is tempted to follow him, just to avoid dealing with Taeyong by himself, but he’s too tired to do so. Hoping that Taeyong is embarrassed enough to not make amends just yet, he goes to sleep early, alone, with too much space on the bed for only one boy. The house is empty, since Taeyong has passed the afternoon studying outside as well, and Yuta hears the precise moment he arrives home, the car that has driven him here, the sound of one of his friends laughing as they say goodbye. By all means, he hears Taeyong entering his room, the sound of water as he showers, and right when Yuta is sure he’s drifted off to sleep, the steps travel directly to his room.

 

His door is half open, so Taeyong just has to push a bit to slip in, whispering a sweet, “Yuta?”

 

He doesn’t reply, but the bed shifts under Taeyong’s weight when he sits on it without permission. The room smells like Taeyong out of the blue, that aroma that incites Yuta to craziness. Maybe for the warmness he pronounces his name with, Yuta feels the sting of tears in his eyes. Maybe because Taeyong cares about him, after all, no matter how much of an asshole Yuta is, or he wouldn’t be here otherwise.

 

“Go back to your room,” Yuta croaks out, not ready to have a conversation, another fight.

 

Taeyong doesn’t. He tucks himself under the blanket, settles his slender hand on Yuta’s waist and his head against his back, his black hair stroking Yuta’s nape. He remains in silence for a while, yet Yuta makes out his accelerated breathing, the pace of his heart thumping against his backbone. Taeyong is a little, delicate creature that Yuta isn’t worthy of and shouldn’t touch, and like all the rest of delicate creatures, he’s inevitably hauled towards someone like Yuta, who could destroy him in the blink of an eye.

 

“Is it because you need company?” Taeyong questions him, holding him closer, fingers wandering from his waist to his stomach. There he finds Yuta’s hands, intertwines one of them with his, and squeezes so hard that he makes Yuta feel pure, whole. “Do I have to sleep here for you to stop?”

 

Yuta has never considered that could work. He has never thought of even searching for an stop to his behaviour, but as Taeyong reveals it as an option, he’s certain it’s a bad idea. The egoistic self takes over, however, and Yuta responds, “If I say yes, will you stay?”

 

Unexpectedly, Taeyong laughs, the sound muffled against Yuta’s back. “That’s a no, shithead.”

 

“I don’t want to make false promises.”

 

However, Yuta yearns to promise something truthful, something he can accomplish just to make Taeyong happy, or have him until he messes up again –because he will. Taeyong budges, climbs over him to occupy the other side of the bed, and as he falls next to Yuta, now face to face, his pupils sparkle with tenacity. Yuta intends to take advantage of this moment, knowing Taeyong will let him entangle their bodies; but much to his shock, it’s Taeyong who hugs him and presses their foreheads together.

 

Yuta tastes Taeyong’s breath as he susurrates, “I want you to promise me _anything_. And then _try_.”

 

This is the thing: Yuta is wrong about assuming Taeyong’s thoughts. Despite his conjectures, Taeyong trusts him. He has never wanted to kiss someone as much as he wants to kiss Taeyong. Not even his first love. It’s a hunch, which whispers that Taeyong’s lips are different, that this boy is different, his miraculous medicine for the wounds.

 

And then, reading his mind, Taeyong erases the scarce distance between them. There are velvety lips on Yuta’s, curves that adapt perfectly to his mouth, but Taeyong only applies a bit of pressure, as though he’s afraid he will break him otherwise. It’s the most innocent, unadorned kiss Yuta has ever received, and nevertheless he can’t remember anyone else, other lips, other touch that isn’t Taeyong’s.

 

When Taeyong lets his head rest on the pillow, toying with a smile, Yuta gasps, “What’s that?”

 

“My promise.”

 

 

 

 

Yuta doesn’t trust love. And two months ago, even after Taeyong kissed him, he didn’t believe in it. He begins to believe that summer, when he meets Ten. Or rather, when he analyzes the way Ten and Youngho look at each other. They don’t talk much, avoid each other since the first day Ten moves into Taeil’s apartment, but Yuta sometimes discovers them alone, whispering in soft voices and timid smiles. Ten is not what he imagined, however, because he’s everything Youngho isn’t; and it isn’t until Yuta watches Youngho’s nervousness in Ten’s presence that it makes absolute sense. This is what he and Taeyong are, opposites from head to toe, a boy ripped in half and a boy who is a one solid piece.

 

It makes him ponder about promises. Ten and Youngho have a silent promise going on, although they are unaware of its existence. It was probably created back in high school, and Yuta doesn’t quite understand it since he has never experienced a relationship like theirs.

 

However, Taeyong’s promise doesn’t happen again. And Yuta is conscious it’s his turn to reform himself, thus even though he’s unable to stop flirting around, he doesn’t invite many boys to his room. Perhaps a couple of them during the whole summer, which in the end provoke the scariest arguments he has had with Taeyong, and that considering Taeyong is permissive with him, as though he understands it isn’t as easy for Yuta as it looks. Youngho isn’t completely oblivious of their problems, but they make sure of fighting and making up when he’s not around, and Yuta likes to assume Taeyong isn’t resorting to Youngho when he needs a shoulder to cry on. Not because it bothers him to imagine Taeyong being consoled by Youngho while he swallows all his feelings on his own, but because he doesn’t want Youngho to hate him too.

 

The new university year means the time they’re around each other decreases, which results in a better coexistence. It transforms too into something that Yuta has never been subjected to: jealousy. The kiss marks a before and an after, and therefore now he can’t stand the guys that swarm around Taeyong like bees. He’s jealous of some of his friends as well, especially the ones that propose him to sleep over, because that implies Taeyong isn’t in his usual bed at home. Yuta has hurt him enough to push him into someone else’s arms, enough to fear he’s going to move on, and what’s better than giving a chance to one of those nice friends of his?

 

Nevertheless, Yuta pours out all those concerns to Ten. At first it isn’t a matter of confiding in him, and it happens just because both are party animals, always together, and a drunk Yuta is a very sincere and indignant Yuta. Then, he finds out that Ten is a good listener, and from time to time he gives advice that could resolve everything, except because Yuta is a coward.

 

“Stop staring at my ass,” Ten grunts at him when he catches Yuta chasing after him around the math section of the library. Contrary to how Ten calls himself an artsy guy and hangs out only with artistic people, he’s majoring in Mathematics. Which never stops Yuta from following him around like a puppy would do after his master, instead of going to his correspondent library to study.

 

“It’s inspiring me,” Yuta excuses himself, cackling when Ten hits him with the spine of a book. “It gave me ideas.”

 

Ten squints at him, and then concedes with a mischievous smile, “Okay, turn around, I definitely need ideas for my assignment. I can describe your butt with functions.”

 

Although the idea of having such representation of his ass is quite tempting, Yuta explains, “Ideas to make you and Youngho fuck, smartass.”

 

Ten glowers at him, of course, as he always does when he’s sober and Youngho’s name pops up in the conversation. After a couple of shots, the reaction is different, mostly an endless blabbering about how hot Youngho is and how little Ten understands him.

 

“Whatever it is, it won’t work,” he pouts, and Yuta pretends that’s gross, but deep inside he wants to pinch Ten’s cheeks and coo at him.

 

“Why aren’t you two fucking, again?”

 

Ten huffs, leaves the book he’s holding and takes another one, spinning to scan the library to decide where to sit. It’s empty, anyway, but he strides to the most isolated corner, as though he’s aware Yuta is going to bother him for a while.

 

“It’s complicated,” he says, a code for _Youngho has problems_. He sits down, and then he snaps his head towards Yuta like he has just remembered something, smile splendid. “We are throwing a party for Sicheng this weekend. You coming, right?”

 

“Sicheng is…?”

 

“Our new flatmate,” he explains, probably for the tenth time even if Yuta has forgotten. He has important things on his mind, like not provoking Taeyong enough to move out, or to kick him out.

 

“Is he hot?” Yuta asks immediately, curious. Not that it matters, because Yuta has always had a very specific taste, and after Taeyong he doesn’t think he’s going to meet someone as perfect as him. Taeyong makes everyone pale in comparison. However, Ten is staring at him with his brows raised, skeptic, so he defends himself, “What? I’m very sex deprived. My dick talks before my brain can think other words.”

 

“Your dick _talks_ ,” Ten snorts, covering his mouth to not laugh out loud. Once he was banned from the library for laughing at Yuta’s jokes - and his laugh isn’t very discrete - so it wouldn’t be a surprise if the story repeated itself. “I always knew you had magic between your legs, no way you would get so many guys with that ugly face.”

 

“I’m gorgeous,” Yuta protests, offended. “Anyway, it’s not like I care about the opinion of someone who wants to date Seo Youngho.”

 

This time, Ten throws a pen at him.

 

 

 

 

That night, Taeyong is waiting for him. He would never admit it, however, since he’s on the couch, a book resting on his thighs, and he doesn’t turn around when Yuta opens the door. Taeyong is not pretending to read, but he’s entertaining himself while Yuta is away: he’s pretending he’s not waiting. It’s one of those things Yuta doesn’t need to discuss to know it’s true. This connection they have, a deep understanding of each other, is the reason why there’s hatred between them sometimes. Taeyong doesn’t acknowledge him, prideful, so Yuta gives into what Taeyong is wishing in silence, and approaches him, falling on the couch next to him.

 

With a scowl on his face, Taeyong raises his chin to glance at him. “Where were you?”

 

Yuta wonders if Taeyong needed him while he was out, and when he accepts that’s a possibility, he wonders why. “Studying with Ten. Why?”

 

There’s a light flicker of incredulity in Taeyong’s face, perhaps because Yuta and Ten together don’t match with the idea of studying. But he doesn’t reply Yuta’s question, and his eyes, now narrowed, roam over Yuta’s body slowly. Then, he puts the book aside, and states, “Those jeans are mine. And that t-shirt too.”

 

Yuta reckons he was bound to be discovered some day, and the fact that Taeyong has taken so long to realize is unsettling. It’s almost a type of test, stealing Taeyong’s clothes to check if he’s paying him any attention, and also a little present he grants himself, since he carries Taeyong’s soft scent with him all day.

 

“Uh. Maybe.”

 

Taeyong sighs, pressing his palm against his forehead, as though Yuta is giving him a headache just by existing. “Give them back.”

 

Trying to not smirk at the chance he’s given, Yuta obeys him. It’s evident Taeyong doesn’t mean he should return the clothes right now, because he blushes as soon as Yuta takes off the t-shirt, cheeks deliciously red. Taeyong isn’t familiar with nudity. He either changes clothes in his room while he’s alone or in the bathroom, always locking up. When they went swimming this summer, he made sure to wear a black t-shirt all the time, and complained about the rest not following his example.

 

Thus, Yuta has to mask his surprise when Taeyong doesn’t say a word, doesn’t tell him to stop as Yuta unbuttons his jeans as well. His gaze is glued to Yuta’s torso, and as the guy slips the jeans off, his eyes shift from his chest to his thighs, observing how the jeans hug Yuta’s legs in their way down.

 

Yuta has received those glances before, just not from Taeyong, who hides his interest for sex like it’s prohibited to even talk about it. It’s almost a honor to have the attention of a boy like Taeyong, to be able to incite other feelings in him that aren’t judging and being disappointed in Yuta.

 

Yuta stands up in all his glory, appreciating Taeyong’s awe for a bit more, his cherry, parted lips, and hands him his clothes in a bundle. “You’re welcome,” Yuta smiles, and his heart flips when Taeyong snaps his eyes up to look at him in coyness. “For the show.”

 

 

 

 

Among the great repertory of bad qualities that Youngho has, the one that Yuta despises the most is that he sleeps too much. First, that means Youngho never makes breakfast for them, though that’s a blessing because Taeyong cooks like an angel. Second, it’s hard to drag Youngho to parties, or just to hang out at night.

 

Therefore, when Yuta announces they’re going to Taeil and Ten’s apartment, Youngho is already in his pajamas. Yuta isn’t sure if he hasn’t been invited directly and had no idea about the plan – which is ridiculous - or he’s just avoiding sharing the same space with Ten. Whatever it is, it isn’t important, because Yuta is terrified of walking all the way to the apartment only with Taeyong. There’s no doubt they won’t have a happy ending tonight if no one monitors them.

 

“Dude, I’m serious, I’m not getting dressed up again just to get drunk and play games,” Youngho insists as Yuta clings onto him with a desperate, pleading expression. “And before you cross _that_ line, it’s not because of Ten.”

 

Displeased, Yuta scrunches his face, because there’s no way Youngho is going to accompany them. He can hear Taeyong walking around the apartment while he collects both his stuff and Yuta’s; no matter how angry they are at each other, Taeyong always takes care of him in small ways.

 

“You are the worst friend ever,” Yuta accuses.

 

Vehement, Youngho nods, “Yes.”

 

When Yuta backtracks to the living room, he stumbles upon Taeyong biting his nails in nervousness. It’s not good. Because it’s Yuta who disturbs him, and that’s not the effect he wants to have on Taeyong; he wishes he could be a positive person in his life, not the one who destroys the peace, who makes Taeyong yearn for an affection he can’t commit to. Yuta aspires to be a better person, for Taeyong, but he’s lost without a guide on how to pulverize the toxicity in him. Yuta is fucked up, Taeyong is whole, and he can’t destroy Taeyong’s happiness for his.

 

“Youngho?” Taeyong asks right away, pupils shaking.

 

A part of Yuta is stung with that drop of jealousy. _Am I not enough?_ he thinks, but it’s an useless question, because he will never be enough of a man for someone like Taeyong. Licking his lips to not spill a bitter reply, he grunts, “He’s not coming. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

 

In silence, Taeyong holds his hand during the walk to Taeil’s apartment. Despite the lack of conversation between them while they stroll through the streets, there’s no awkwardness. Having Taeyong by his side feels right, feels like destiny, but also foretells a dark future in which Yuta loses that cherished joy. However, Yuta lets both of them be soaked in this moment, when no words are needed, when the warmth of Taeyong’s palm is all he can focus on.

 

 

 

 

Only a few hours after meeting Sicheng, Yuta is baffled at how similar they are. Despite the similarities, Sicheng is more playful, and though he looks innocent, he’s way sharper than him, smarter tongue, less shame. Nevertheless, Yuta sees a younger version of himself in him. Or rather, the version he would have been if he didn’t walk on a path of self-abuse. He’s pretty, too, in a way that makes others fall to kiss his feet at first sight. It’s not only about if he’s attractive or not, but about the way he carries himself, the confidence, the blinding smile. Those are tricks that Yuta uses as well, and it’s hard to not stare at Sicheng when he acts that way; Yuta is hypnotized upon recognizing his own reflection in another person.

 

Yuta tries to pretend otherwise, but his eyes end up finding Sicheng all the time, and of course, Taeyong catches him. Sometimes Yuta would avert his gaze and run into Taeyong’s instead, scrutinizing, a discouraged air to them. He fixes it by giving Taeyong more attention, hugging him when he has his guard down.

 

Yuta is ready for his promise, but he’s not. He doesn’t accept the drinks when Hansol offers them, conscious that getting drunk will inevitably bring him to inconvenience Taeyong. Drunk promises don’t count, and he’s afraid he will make one if he’s not sober. Taeyong wouldn’t care if he was drunk or not.

 

At some point of the night Sicheng begins to linger around him, tired of pestering Taeil and Hansol with kisses and giggling over Ten’s lame jokes. Yuta has tried to keep some distance between them, mostly for respect towards Taeyong, who seems to be having a real bad time tonight. Yuta is pondering about if he should cheer him up, attempting to discover the magic key for Taeyong’s laughter, though he suspects he won’t be that easy anymore.

 

But then Sicheng captures him in the kitchen, puts a hand on his shoulder from behind and, as Yuta turns his head to look at him, shows an immaculate, lopsided grin.

 

“I’ve known you for 4 hours? And you already made Taeyong hate me,” he remarks with a fake pout, though he doesn’t sound annoyed at that fact. Indeed, Sicheng seems to be mildly amused by the situation, as though he’s used to getting on people’s bad side by seducing their other half. “Your boyfriend?”

 

Yuta smiles at the question. He’s not that transparent to others, yet he always forgets it, as the pain sometimes grows so big that he supposes it’s a visible thing. “I don’t do boyfriends.”

 

Dedicating him a hesitant, suspicious look, Sicheng agrees, “Yeah. Sure.” And then, after a silence in which Yuta opens the fridge to steal some food now that he’s not under Taeil’s supervision, Sicheng comments, “I would date him if he was in love with me.”

 

Regarding the fact that Sicheng has zero information about Taeyong’s personality, and therefore that’s an adventurous affirmation, Yuta retorts, “He’s not in love with me.”

 

However, Yuta has no idea if that’s true. Taeyong is quiet but mindful, and shows his interest through acts instead of words. Even if Taeyong loved him, Yuta would never expect to hear those three words coming out directly from his mouth. And less, if they were aimed at him. Yuta doesn’t trust words, anyhow, because they bring lies, they manipulated him and his illusions, and they have minimal value in his mind. His parents said they loved him countless times, but that seems so false now that Yuta feels like laughing. Minho assured him he was in love so many times he can’t even remember, though a part of Yuta never believed him.

 

Sicheng pours himself a drink, toasts with Yuta’s glass of water and questions, “Are you in love?”

 

In the end, Yuta laughs, and it’s a sincere laughter. He presumes that was Sicheng’s intention when he approached him, so he throws a jeering, pleasing, “You are so fucking nosy.”

 

And that’s a yes.

 

 

 

 

Following Sicheng back to the living room, Yuta finds that Taeyong is by himself on the couch, hugging his knees, while the rest of the boys are on the floor. They’re watching how Ten’s skills to game deteriorate with a bit of alcohol, Taeil is surprisingly on Hansol’s lap like it was typical for them – and it’s not – and Ten is so close to the tv that his nose may bump into the screen if he moves forward.

 

Much to his shock, Sicheng signals him with his head to go with Taeyong and, perhaps because he’s not going to be welcomed by the boy, he scurries to the bathroom. Yuta sighs before jumping onto the couch, pretending everything is okay, and his chest clenches when Taeyong’s stare centers on him.

 

“Are you drunk?” Yuta asks, cautious, disposed to bring Taeyong home if the answer is affirmative.

 

However, Taeyong shakes his head to deny, and Yuta draws closer, side to side, to rest his head on Taeyong’s arm. He isn’t taken aback at that, but Yuta is quite shocked when Taeyong responds by interlacing their fingers together, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. It leaves him speechless, and all the things he has prepared to say evaporate in that instant, replaced by an immense ardor in his lungs that doesn’t let him breathe.

 

Yuta records that tiny second of happiness in his heart.

 

“Oh god, I give up!” Ten exclaims then, throwing the control around the room. Luckily, it lands on one of the cushions Taeil has placed on the floor before. Ten wouldn’t be very pleased if he woke up tomorrow and discovered he demolished yet another control. “I’m going to check on Sicheng.”

 

When Ten is gone, after several seconds of hitting the bathroom’s door, there’s an uncomfortable silence among the boys in the living room. All of a sudden, Taeil realizes where he’s sitting, stands up in a hurry and mumbles something about being hungry. Hansol is too drunk to care about if snuggling Taeil is suitable for their friendship or not, so he trails after a flushed Taeil all the way to the kitchen.

 

Taeyong stifles a laugh against his hand, contented, and Yuta thinks that’s the most beautiful sound in the universe. “Youngho is going to cry when he discovers this,” Taeyong points out.

 

Humming in agreement, Yuta presses Taeyong’s hand in his. His skin is smooth and addicting, and Yuta hopes someday he can touch other places too, kiss him on the fair skin of his collarbones, on the veins of his neck. He doesn’t mind if his friends noticed his strange behavior, his lack of interest in other guys, but he hopes Taeyong did.

 

“Taeyong,” he calls him in a whisper, as though it was dangerous to break that calmness. The only light in the room comes from the TV, and Yuta relies on the security that darkness conceals him. “I would stop sleeping around if we were together. And I want us to be together.”

 

Right away, Taeyong tenses up. He doesn’t pull back, however, because physical contact is relaxing for both of them, and it would be harder for them to discuss the topic. It’s better this way, because their bodies can’t lie to each other, and they need honesty.

 

Releasing an incredulous, almost inaudible laugh, Taeyong tells him, “What the fuck are you saying?”

 

It’s his last chance to draw back. It would be easier for Yuta to convince himself that he doesn’t feel anything for Taeyong. He could run away, go on with the life he has built for himself, since it doesn’t require any effort from him. Yet it’s worth it, for once, to admit it, “The truth.”

 

It’s not a promise, because Yuta is still unable to reach that level. It’s a fact. Even though Taeyong requests more of him, and he trusts he will capable of it in the future, Yuta isn’t so sure. At least someone believes in him.

 

Taeyong kisses him again, this time on his temple, and mutters, “I need to think about it.”

 

 

 

 

Yuta’s life is all about lies. The lies he tells those boys he gets under the sheets, the lies he tells himself, the lies he tells his family about his sexuality and, last but not least, the lies he tells his friends. Some are great lies, and some are small, like denying it’s his birthday when Ten wishes him a happy birthday.

 

“I know it’s your birthday,” Ten grunts at him, shoving a tiny wrapped box into his chest. He has showed up in his faculty without previous notice, and waited for his lecture to be finished, Sicheng following him in curiosity – and skipping classes. “I checked it before you changed it, last week, to two months ago, you dumbass.”

 

The first thing Yuta is going to do when he arrives home is to remove his birthday from all his profiles. For now, he holds the present with trembling hands, half happy and half scared that someone remembered it.

 

“Don’t tell the others?” he attempts. It’s not that he hates this day, but people love showering birthday boys with kindness, and he is certain he can’t handle it without crumbling down.

 

Ten clicks his tongue and casts a glance towards Sicheng, who forces an innocent smile, “Don’t tell the others, Sicheng.”

 

“No problem,” he shrugs, but then he snatches Yuta’s bag, claiming that he shouldn’t be carrying any weight on his special day, and adds, “With a condition: we celebrate it, even it’s just the three of us.”

 

Let Yuta scratch his past affirmation: he does hate his birthday, because there are twenty-four hours to ponder about how alone he is. He would hate having a birthday party, too, but because he isn’t used to anyone worrying about him. He can’t handle affection because he never received it in a genuine way, and even though now he has friends that would give it to him, that would imply confessing a few secrets. He isn’t eager to display the wounds of his adolescence.

 

“Just the three of us,” Yuta accepts, and Sicheng squeals in enthusiasm.

 

Since they are together, they decide to have lunch without the others, thus they can plan something for tonight. It’s not that difficult to choose a place to have fun when they all love parties, anyway. The conversation alters its course, as it always happens, because apparently Sicheng is updated about how much Ten likes Youngho. And, also apparently, he loves playing matchmaker.

 

“You should make him jealous,” he proposes with his mouth full, earning a smack from Ten, both for talking while chewing and for meddling in his non-existent love life.

 

“That only works in movies. If he likes me-”

 

“He likes you so much that he would break his two legs if you asked,” Yuta interrupts, rolling his eyes. He shots Sicheng a smirk, and the boy mirrors the gesture immediately, knowing what’s coming, “Or his three legs.”

 

“If he likes me,” Ten insists, glaring at his friends so that they shut up. “And I date another person, he will be incredibly upset. And his way of dealing with this type of thing is disappearing off the map, so bad idea.”

 

Taking into account that Ten is right, Sicheng and Yuta give themselves a moment to come up with another scheme. To be honest, Yuta is quite envious of Ten’s relationship with Youngho. It seems easy to fix, and although it’s about their emotional problems as well, being together is the natural course for them. He and Taeyong, that’s another story.

 

“So what if I show interest in you, but you don’t reciprocate?” Yuta suggests, resting his chin on his palm. Now that he has grabbed Ten’s attention, a sparkle of interest in his eyes, he explains, “I can make the lewdest comments about your ass, you know, he would go crazy.”

 

While Sicheng proceeds to force Yuta’s repertory of dirty comments out of him, Ten munches on his food, pensive. That’s all Yuta needs to set up his plan, because though Ten wouldn’t get involved in tricking Youngho, he’s lost about how to approach the older. Living with Youngho has taught Yuta that he’s hard to approach, unless your name is Taeyong, in which case Youngho confides like it’s the end of the world.

 

“Can I tease Youngho too?” Sicheng pops in, and it may be a question, and he may be asking for permission, but the three of them know it’s just for courtesy. Sicheng is going to do it regardless of their opinion.

 

 

 

 

Yuta won’t pick up the calls.

 

That’s his first decision when, after lunch, his phone starts ringing nonstop. It’s his second year living by himself, and not with his parents, yet during the first year he made the mistake of answering the calls. He had never been good at missing people, so when he recognized his mother’s number on the screen, he pressed the screen right away, hopeful. Yet, there weren’t nice words exchanged, and after half of an hour, Yuta felt like a fool for having believed it would be different, that his parents would appreciate him once he wasn’t by their side.

 

But he was still gay, and his parents still hated him.

 

This year, he doesn’t need to hear the list of actions he has to do to redeem himself in front of his family. Look for a nice girl, marry her, have kids. And although he fights that idea every day, it’s not that simple to renounce the love of those who raised him. Of those who, by default, were supposed to love him.

 

Sicheng keeps glancing at him in nervousness as his phone vibrates, unasked questions in his gaze, and Yuta sends him an apologetic smile every time it happens. Sicheng wants to help him, but has no idea how to other than dragging him to celebrate his birthday. Ten doesn’t comment anything either, and Yuta mustn’t have any success with his artificial smiles, because he suggests Yuta can hide in their apartment until they go out tonight. Of course, he takes on that offer.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to invite Taeyong?” Sicheng snoops, however, during the course of the day.

 

The healthy decision to make, he suspects, is to spend the day eating cake and watching movies with Youngho and Taeyong. But that isn’t going to distract him from his parents. Yuta is well aware of what the remedy for that is, and he’s not going to stop it, nor to use Taeyong for it or allow him to witness it.

 

So, as an excuse, Yuta explains, “He doesn’t like parties.”

 

 

 

 

It’s almost midnight when the texts arrive. Not responding a call and not reading a text aren’t the same things, and therefore Yuta processes the words on the screen before he realizes he shouldn’t be reading a text from his mom. There’s another one, from Jaehyun, wishing him a happy birthday and assuring he will visit soon, but it’s his mother’s what remains engraved in his mind.

 

Perhaps because he’s already drunk, or because the music and the lights – an annoying excessive blue light that this club applies – transform him into a numb, senseless zombie, he throws his phone onto the floor. That, or it slips from his hands, but he enjoys watching how his mother’s words crash against the hard surface. He wishes it was that fast to get rid of them.

 

Sicheng turns up next to him in a matter of seconds. He hurries to grab the phone before someone else steals or steps on it, yet he doesn’t return it to Yuta, as if he could tell that’s the source of his distress.

 

The music is too loud, so Sicheng grabs Yuta by the neck to whisper into his ear, “Are you okay?”

 

And there’s something magical in how he worries. Like he actually cares about Yuta. It reminds him of Taeyong, of that spark of hope that the boy is able to spur in him. Sicheng’s fingers on his neck touch him like Taeyong’s, and Yuta can’t help but think that this is it, that’s the signal he’s waiting for.

 

With a dry throat, Yuta admits, “No.”

 

It would be impossible to tell who kisses the other first. And it’s impossible because the lines between them are blurred; Sicheng can read his needs that well because he’s infected with the same problem, even if the origins might not be the same. They are each other, and they help each other. Sicheng knows that sometimes the only way to forget and forgive oneself is to be in another person’s arms, cheated by the pretense they are loved. It’s temporary, it’s effective, and though Yuta suspects sex wouldn’t be necessary to reach that zone of peace, he doesn’t know any other way yet.

 

Sicheng kisses him, and Yuta doesn’t feel like crying anymore. Sicheng caresses him, and Yuta doesn’t hate himself that much. Every time Yuta kisses a boy for the first time, it feels like he won a battle against his parents. And later that night, when he’s buried between Sicheng’s legs, the boy pleading for more under him, Yuta remembers he’s in love with someone else. And that it’s fine, and boys can be loved too. And there’s someone who loves him, even if he’s a failure at everything he tries, or even if he doesn’t deserve it.

 

 

 

 

“Stop whining.”

 

If it was as easy as obeying Sicheng’s orders, Yuta would stop. But the morning brings two deathly elements: sobriety, with its complementary hangover, and realization, with its complementary regret. Yuta can’t blame Sicheng for it, not even if he was part of the mistake too. Sicheng is single, doesn’t have a special person he likes except a tiny crush on a guy that he mentions once in a while, and last night he simply did what Yuta’s sanity required of him.

 

Sicheng is the first one to get up, but by the time he does, Yuta has been awake for two long hours. _Don’t you dare to pity yourself_ , he warns before disappearing into the bathroom for a shower. And that’s the only reason why Yuta doesn’t feel sad about himself; he pities Taeyong instead. So when Sicheng is clean and manhandling Yuta out of the bed because he has to change the sheets, he gets fed up with him sulking about what happened last night.

 

“You don’t understand,” Yuta complains, hiding his face in his hands. Which isn’t true, because there isn’t possibly anyone who gets him better than Sicheng does. Especially after all the things Yuta spilled yesterday, letting himself be carried away by the alcohol and the sadness. “This time I really fucked up.”

 

It’s clear Sicheng has another opinion, since he just shrugs, “It’s done. You needed it.” And that’s true, too, but it doesn’t diminish the gravity of his bad decisions. When Sicheng ruffles his hair, allowing him to whine a bit more, he adds, “Taeyong is going to be hurt, and you have to tell him no matter what. But you needed it.”

 

Helpless, Yuta stares at Sicheng as he creates a bundle with the sheets. It’s kind of strange, standing in his underwear in the same room with the guy he slept last night, the guy who also gives him love advice and understands his weaknesses. Sicheng is his friend, a new type of friendship Yuta has never had. He’s the reason why Yuta thinks that, as everything disintegrates, he can build something new from the ashes.

 

“I don’t want Taeyong to forgive me,” Yuta confesses, and the heavy weight on his shoulders disappears in an instant.

 

Sicheng draws a motherly smile, much to Yuta’s surprise, but then he pushes the sheets against Yuta’s chest so that he takes care of them. “I know. But he will, sooner or later.”

 

 

 

 

Yuta’s life is about lies, but that doesn’t mean he’s disposed to lie to Taeyong. It’s a big step for him, and also a step that can destroy the path of peace he has tried to establish. Perhaps because Yuta has never been happy, he ignored that it’s a brittle feeling, like a house of cards that collapses with the wind of a simple whisper.

 

He tells Taeyong right away, at the first moment of the day that Youngho leaves for his classes. He’s not expecting immediate forgiveness, and for sure he doesn’t believe Taeyong is going to react well to the news. There isn’t silence, and there is no shouting. He doesn’t remember which words he uses to explain himself, nor if he mentions something about his parents; it doesn’t matter, anyhow, because Yuta has run out of his own pain. Taeyong hasn’t, however, so he locks himself in the bathroom, refusing to listen to him anymore.

 

Yuta sits on the couch, dry eyes, and hears him cry.

 

 

 

 

Contrary to what Yuta had supposed, Taeyong doesn’t release his anger on him, but he doesn’t rant to Youngho either. Yuta is certain because if he had done it, Youngho would have punched him in the face. It all leads to one conclusion: even if Taeyong hates him, if he’s hurt, he stills protects Yuta. At first, Taeyong doesn’t speak to him at all, but then he begins to pretend in front of Youngho, limiting their conversations to _good morning, good night, and did you have a nice day?_ Yuta can’t bear with it that well. When he looks into Taeyong’s eyes, he’s conscious of what he has done, how he has stripped the sweetness and innocence off of someone so perfect.

 

And yet, Taeyong protects him with his silence.

 

The house asphyxiates him, and it might not be a good solution, but Yuta escapes by crashing Sicheng’s apartment. They don’t have sex, of course, because neither of them is that much of an idiot. There isn’t that connection between them, in any case. It’s a bit odd to be woken up by Taeil in the morning, soft voice bringing them back from their dreams, but Yuta definitely likes it better than waking up alone, cold sweat at the perspective of seeing the hate in Taeyong’s eyes. Ten joins them from time to time, the three of them squashed in the bed, and some nights Ten simply drags his mattress to the room so they can be together and comfortable. Perhaps that’s the first moment Yuta realizes he does have friends, and that if Youngho knew what he’s going through, he would act like this as well.

 

“You have to attend my gaming competition if you want to sleep in this apartment for free,” Ten demands one morning, after realizing Yuta has eaten the last cupcake that was left. “Sicheng said yes. I’m inviting Taeyong too, because he doesn’t need all the space you’re giving him.”

 

“What?” Yuta laments, a pout on his face though that trick never works on Ten. “What if I need space?”

 

“ _We_ need space in this apartment,” Sicheng remarks, rolling his eyes. The lack of cupcakes gets everyone mad in this place, Yuta notices. “And I need to live a little, if you know what I mean. You’re like the typical mother-in-law cockblocking me.”

 

His friends have honorable intentions, but Yuta fears he’s not ready to face Taeyong. What if Sicheng is wrong and Taeyong is never able to forgive him? What if Yuta crossed the limit, and there’s no way to fix his misstep?

 

“You don’t have to worry,” Sicheng continues, as though he has read his mind. “Taeyong probably hates me, not you, so I’m the one in danger of being stabbed with a fork from behind.”

 

 

 

 

Despite the music playing on his phone, and his own voice accompanying it, Yuta can hear Youngho and Taeyong talking in the living room. They converse in hushed whispers, shaky tones, searching for an intimacy that Yuta’s presence in the house steals from them. Yuta feels like an intruder. Rather, he is one.

 

He counts the time for Sicheng and Ten to arrive, exchanging texts so that he doesn’t have to endure an awkward moment of silence with Taeyong and Youngho as they wait for the car. Already dressed up, he sits on his bed, anxiety creeping on his skin, until the horn of Ten’s car blows from outside. He shares the backseat with Taeyong and Sicheng, and luckily Sicheng is loud and animated enough to distract him. To make him pretend he’s okay, too, and not ruin Ten’s night. He observes Youngho in the front seat, nervous but glowing, and not even Taeyong ignoring everyone and looking out the window can consume that flame of happiness.

 

At first, Yuta ruminates that he’s lucky of having Sicheng by his side tonight, since he sticks to him like gum. But after almost one hour, he realizes Sicheng is doing it on purpose for some reason, and that reason is Taeyong. It begins during the tournament, when Sicheng holds onto his arm, leans his head on his shoulder, and from time to time pecks him on the cheek or on his hand. Those are gestures they share when they’re alone, searching for a type of friendship they can’t enjoy with the rest, given their respective notoriety. In that moment, there’s nothing Yuta can do to scold him without provoking a fuss (because Sicheng isn’t going to stay silent), so he just avoids glancing at Taeyong. It’s better if he doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

 

“What are you doing?” Yuta protests, however, once the tournament has come to an ending. It’s already dark outside, and they’re walking ahead of the rest. Yuta has caught Youngho and Ten holding hands, and then just intertwining their arms, and has dragged Sicheng forward to leave them alone. Which in the end it’s not to avail because Taeyong stays behind too, preferring their company to Yuta and Sicheng’s.

 

“Making Taeyong explode,” Sicheng admits, no trace of shame on his face. Then, he pets his own features with his fingers, a slight frown of worry. “Do you know if he punches hard? I love my nose too damn much.”

 

Although the situation is worrying rather than funny, Yuta bursts into laughter. Taeyong wouldn’t hurt a fly, even if he has a temper, but Yuta has only experienced it directed towards him. The most violent thing Taeyong has done is throw things at him and run around the house chasing after him, but he always starts mad and ends up laughing. Yuta does miss that simplicity, when their fights were about petty, domestic disputes.

 

“I want to get so drunk I won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow,” Yuta divulges when they’re in the bar, disregarding the glare Youngho and Taeyong send his way. It’s likely that they have to bring him home if that happens, anyway, and they hate his drunk self.

 

“Don’t,” Taeyong threatens him, barely holding the eye contact, and that’s the first word Taeyong has told him all night.

 

However, Sicheng is fast to end the conversation and strokes Yuta’s hair, a permissive giggle escaping his lips. “Get drunk if you want, I will carry you to my home.”

 

Yuta is about to reply with a sarcastic remark, except Sicheng kicks him under the table and he suddenly understands why he’s acting so sweet to him. When he flicks his gaze upwards, he discovers Taeyong’s dark eyes glowering at Sicheng across the table. He’s so concentrated on his own thoughts – he looks like he’s planning Sicheng’s death - that he doesn’t notice Yuta staring at him in awe. Taeyong is usually closed up, hard to understand, but Yuta has driven to a mood in which he either doesn’t care anymore or he’s unable to conceal his feelings.

 

Then, shocking everyone around him, Taeyong spits, “He’s not going to leave with you.”

 

Sicheng is right: Taeyong doesn’t hate Yuta, he hates Sicheng. When he locks gazes with Taeyong, there’s the beginning of a challenge on his face, as though somehow he’s speculating if Yuta will contradict him or not. He doesn’t say a word or move an inch, because agreeing or nodding would placate Taeyong. And he loves what’s happening right now, since Taeyong isn’t hurt anymore, but angry, and that’s a new phase he hasn’t witnessed before.

 

All of sudden, Ten and Youngho leave quietly, yet that doesn’t worry Yuta much. Sicheng whistles and screams a couple of indecent comments at them, but the pair doesn’t even glance back. It cheers Yuta up to know Youngho and Ten are brave enough to be alone, unlike him. Everyone is moving on with their insecurities and flaws, but Yuta remains frozen in time, wishing his current self is enough.

 

When Yuta directs his attention back to the table, it’s too late for him to do damage control. Sicheng is talking, index finger playing with his cup, deadly eyes drilling Taeyong, “…don’t you think you should leave too?”

 

One thing is clear: Sicheng should become an actor, if his false nonchalance is anything to go by. For a second, Yuta feels like he’s the main character in a cheesy movie, the two prettiest boys he knows fighting for him. The imperfection in that movie of his is that Sicheng doesn’t really like him and Taeyong doesn’t even want him around.

 

Despite the contempt, Taeyong isn’t pissed, at least not on the outside. He examines Sicheng in confusion, as if he has heard wrong, and then he turns to Yuta, even more baffled. “What?”

 

In response, Sicheng smirks, and all of a sudden Taeyong is a little lamb about to be eaten, shrinking in his seat. It’s evident he hasn’t imagined Sicheng would defy him this way, especially because Taeyong is putting himself out of the way so that Yuta forgets him. Or so Yuta thought until tonight, for Taeyong shouldn’t be acting like he _cares_.

 

“One of us shouldn’t be here. And it’s not me.”

 

If Yuta had known what was going to happen, he wouldn’t have prevented it either way. Sicheng must have pushed a secret button inside Taeyong, one that strips him away from his civil, good boy behavior. If he was disoriented and a bit scared an instant ago, now he’s standing, chin raised and back straight, and grabbing his own drink. He doesn’t blink an eye as he pours it all over Sicheng’s head, and when there’s none left, he takes Sicheng’s and repeats. And then he grasps Yuta’s, not minding that both of them are staring at him with their mouth open, and empties it on Sicheng’s head as well.

 

“That’s fine,” he concludes, setting the glass back on the table and wiping his hands on his jeans. He observes Sicheng with mirth in his eyes, and Yuta knows him well enough to detect he’s proud of what he has done, beyond happy. He wonders for how long Taeyong has been growing the urge to attack Sicheng in any way. “I had no interest in staying.”

 

The advantage of being a liar is that he can identify any other person’s lie. It shouldn’t have been very difficult regardless, because Taeyong is vulnerable and shaky, and using words as a shield can’t trick Yuta anymore. For Taeyong, the only person that must be out of the equation is Sicheng, and a part of him might be yearning for Yuta stepping in and stopping the fight. A part him might even yearn that Yuta kisses him. But it’s too soon, although he ignores that, to forgive; it’s not about time, but about how Yuta has to confide in him, and it will forever too soon if he doesn’t take a decision.

 

“You can leave, then,” Yuta hears himself saying, not daring to look at Taeyong.

 

There’s a moment of deep silence, a consequence of the abrupt reply, and Yuta fixes his attention on the table. He still captures the image of Taeyong’s frame in front of him, petrified for a second, before picking up his things and darting off. He does leave, without a goodbye, without shouting at Yuta for being an asshole. Taeyong is that type of person, and that’s why Yuta is addicted to him.

 

 

 

 

Sicheng keeps him company that night, the heat of the club they choose drying his clothes, even if they become sticky and hardened. When he’s drunk, Sicheng doesn’t mind a tiny bit. They allow other people to buy them drinks, and while Sicheng makes out with a guy, Yuta just flirts a little, swallows thoughts of Taeyong through alcohol. He has reached a point in which, not being sober, he still despises the idea of touching another man that isn’t Taeyong. Taeyong, who was jealous of Sicheng and cried for him, who must be at home right now, perhaps hating every fiber of Yuta’s body.

 

Yuta still ignores which one is the right decision, if he can make Taeyong happy or if he should push him far away from him. For sure, Taeyong would eventually forget him. Yuta doesn’t have that magic factor to be needed in others’ lives. That’s why he likes Sicheng so much, because both of them are this way, heart full and empty at the same time, with a subtle certainty that they won’t be loved since they have defective pieces.

 

Tonight, Sicheng favors him over the stranger he could hook up with, and walks with him home. None of them is sad over it, but they aren’t happy either. Yuta feels a bit nostalgic while they return to his apartment, and it isn’t until Sicheng has fallen asleep in his bed, holding onto his arm as if Yuta was a giant teddy bear, that he realizes why.

 

Nostalgia is there, like fingers clutching his heart, a knot in his chest, because he’s saying goodbye to a part of himself.

 

 

 

 

The house is immersed in a somber atmosphere when Yuta wakes up, Sicheng curled up against him. They forgot to change into their pajamas last night, so without bothering Sicheng, the first thing Yuta does is showering and wearing clean clothes. The thin walls allow him to hear Youngho and Taeyong in the house, like a background murmur, but Yuta doesn’t want to wonder what they are talking about. Considering he wasn’t very cautious when he arrived home, Taeyong must be aware that he brought Sicheng with him. Of course, he didn’t think of the consequences and assumptions that could create, but once the effect of alcohol is gone, he curses himself for it.

 

Anyway, he’s supposed to meet his friends for a basketball match in the morning, so he prepares his best happy façade for the day. In an attempt to avoid running into Taeyong, he sits back on the bed, pulling up the sheets to tuck Sicheng in properly. The moment he hears someone opening the main door, he prays it’s Taeyong who left and not Youngho, and steps out of the room.

 

Of course, he bumps into Taeyong as soon as he’s out, both of them halting at the view of each other. Though it’s useless, Yuta hurries to close the door behind him, hiding the sight of Sicheng in his bed, but that colors Taeyong’s face with bitterness. Sometimes, Taeyong is unable to understand him at all, but other times, like this one, he sees through Yuta as though he is transparent.

 

There are no good mornings, just a tense silence before Taeyong spits with fire in his eyes, “You don’t have to repress yourself, you can sleep with him.”

 

It should be like a slap on the face, but Yuta doesn’t feel anything. At this point, there’s barely any word that could influence him to feel guiltier, maybe because he has reached the limit. He’s about to deny he has slept with Sicheng, though, until he realizes Taeyong already knows that for some reason. It could be blind faith in him, but Yuta isn’t that delusional; not even he trusts himself that much.

 

As Yuta steps closer, Taeyong doesn’t draw back, just stares into his eyes with a fierceness that is foreign to him. Yuta feels that strength on his own skin, wishes Taeyong would share it with him. Yet it’s fake, and only when Yuta is close enough to detect that, he decides he shouldn’t play this game Taeyong has tried to start: a game that would pull them apart.

 

“I’m not going to,” he assures, swallowing the trail of thoughts that fight for his attention. He wants to tell Taeyong things he wouldn’t be able to rectify later, so he bites his tongue and asks instead, “Are you jealous?”

 

Taeyong raises a brow at him, almost insulted. “Jealous?” He pronounces it slowly, tasting how it sounds, or perhaps for Yuta to feel the weight of the word. “Don’t treat me like I’m crazy. I have reasons to be angry. And jealous.”

 

It’s not a surprise. They don’t have that type of secret between them: Taeyong needs him, maybe loves him, and Yuta feels the same, despite not showing it with his behavior. It’s not as easy as loving each other, still, and Yuta thinks Taeyong believed otherwise in the beginning.

 

However, their problems are caused by secrets. By Yuta’s inability to confide in people, to accept the fact his parents hate him for being gay, which transforms his sexuality into something to be ashamed of. For a long time, he has blamed Minho for his lack of capacity to get into a relationship, to be faithful and to even allow himself to fall in love. But in this dark hall, with Taeyong’s delicate face, vulnerable eyes in front of him, Yuta admits it’s not Minho’s fault. A part of him always desired to comply his parents’ wishes, convincing himself that there was a chance he could marry a girl and be happy even though he isn’t straight. So if he was going to form a family with a woman, there wasn’t anything bad in fucking men while he was young.

 

That’s it, until Taeyong appeared. Yuta has savored freedom, real happiness in the shape of a skinny boy, the most beautiful boy, inside and outside, he has ever met, and now he can’t go back to his initial plans.

 

Before he can process what he’s going to confess, Yuta’s mouth moves in its own, “I have something to tell you.”

 

Taeyong doesn’t identify the gravity in his intonation, how his voice trembles with those few words.  “If it’s another thing about Sicheng-”

 

“It’s about my parents.”

 

Taeyong gazes at him, really _gazes_ at him. There’s a spark in his eyes, a tinge of fright, a bit of adoration. Yuta can only imagine how he would react if he kissed him, pushing him against the wall of the hall, without revealing his background. Would Taeyong comply, aware of how fragile Yuta is right now? Would he reject him because he would suspect it’s a trick to tangle him up further in Yuta’s web?

 

Yuta can’t kiss him. When Taeyong nods at him, he has left his rancor behind, as though it doesn’t matter that Yuta has slept with dozens of boys as long as he reveals his wounds for Taeyong, and only for him. There’s no one else in front of whom Yuta would bare himself. It’s an act beyond love or romance, and Taeyong seems to understand that.

 

 

 

 

“Fuck, can you stop smoking? I don’t want to smell like a spillway all day.”

 

It’s always bad news to find Ten with a cigarette in his mouth, but somehow Yuta isn’t surprised to see such scene when they meet for lunch. At least, because after playing basketball with Youngho and Hansol, he’s updated of what exactly happened with Ten last night. It’s strange to live the two sides of the coin; one, with Youngho being insecure about Ten’s feelings for him; the other, with Ten piling up his frustration, so enamored with Youngho that he wouldn’t be able to grasp the concept of Youngho thinking Ten deserves better.

 

Until now, Yuta has managed to have a very productive day. He has talked with Taeyong, which still makes his legs tremble because of the memory of their entangled hands, of Taeyong’s arms, scent and comfort when they hugged. It wasn’t a conversation, per se, but a monologue, because Yuta spoke and Taeyong listened. There wasn’t anything that he could comment on. His way of conceding acceptance was fulfilling enough, and Yuta doesn’t need other than his little gestures of affection to know he has made the right decision.

 

However, it has been a stressful morning, and the image of Ten smoking relaxes him. Ten is his escape, for he doesn’t take life so seriously. He curses and complains and begs Yuta to solve his problems, but he’s never serious about it.

 

When Ten locks eyes with him, he immediately pouts, whether it’s because Yuta is chiding him or because he has been waiting for him for too long. “He sent me home, what the hell?” he explains, as if that’s enough reason to succumb to smoking. “I fucking told him to come home with me. That was a clear invitation for sex. And he sent me home. In a taxi. I _hate_ him.”

 

Yuta smiles, patting Ten on the shoulder. Sometimes Ten is dumb enough to believe the way to Youngho’s heart is between his legs, or that perhaps that Youngho only wants sex from him. Yuta is sure that deep inside, Ten is aware that’s not true, but he takes desperate resolutions.

 

Ten is still pulling a puppy face for him when he suddenly transforms, lips drawing a smirk. Maybe it’s his silence what has given Yuta away, or perhaps that he’s not proposing crazy ideas to cure Ten’s poor soul. Yuta warns him, “Don’t look at me like that.”

 

Ten swings the cigarette between his fingers and blows the smoke upwards, still amused, “What did he tell you?”

 

Of course, Yuta can’t spill that Youngho has self-esteem issues and feels inferior to him. Ten isn’t stupid, and even if Yuta has lived with Youngho for two years now, Ten knows him better.

 

So, with a shrug, Yuta just explains, “Youngho is a bit prudish, you know that.”

 

His friend laughs like that’s the best joke he has heard in years. And Ten’s laughter is contagious, so Yuta joins him, forgetting the stress of the past days, the sleepless nights he has spent. There, in front of the restaurant they chose, both of them look like they are in their own crazy world.

 

“No, I don’t know _that_. I have caught him staring at my ass countless times,” he announces, grinning when he realizes Yuta is frowning at him, skeptical. Needless to say, Yuta doesn’t observe Youngho enough to notice that kind of signals; he just witnesses how he blushes at any mention of Ten, and runs away if he’s around when possible. Stepping on his cigarette, Ten puts it off and continues, “And my thighs. And well, my crotch too. He’s a bit overwhelming sometimes.”

 

Yuta hits him to shut him up, not able to contain his laughter, “You’re lying. That’s not the pure Youngho I know.”

 

Not disposed to discuss if Youngho is a horny bastard or not, Ten ignores him and whines, “I can’t believe he sent me home. He should have taken advantage of me.”

 

Yuta wonders how much Youngho loves Ten to not have jumped on the chance of an easy hook-up. His friend doesn’t comprehend why, and maybe Yuta himself wouldn’t have been empathetic with that decision. Yet now he is. If Taeyong showed up drunk in his bed, asking him for sex, Yuta wouldn’t give in. That’s the right way to fuck someone you don’t care about, but the mechanisms are different when you have slept with enough people to consider that sex isn’t that important. And it seems incredible that it comes from Yuta’s thoughts, since he blabbers about sex all the time.

 

“If you had grabbed him by his dick, he wouldn’t have had the guts to reject you,” Yuta jokes, erasing all those occurrences from his mind. Imagining Youngho’s face if Ten had palmed his crotch makes him bend over with laughter for several seconds. Once he has recovered his breath, he adds, “He would have come in his pants right away, probably.”

 

Ten bursts into laughter too, eyes crinkling up in happiness. He was about to light up another cigarette, but for some reason Yuta’s words make him forget, and he slips it back into its box, “I love you, dude.”

 

“Because I’m very lovable,” Yuta replies right away. It’s a defense to not process those words, and Yuta has to swallow the lump in his throat. Ten says _I love you_ so easily, with such casualty, and however it’s the first time Yuta has ever heard him do so. Also the first time a friend has told him that.

 

Perhaps noticing Yuta doesn’t sound as confident as usual, Ten pokes him in his ribs and smiles up at him, “Let’s eat. You have stuff to tell me, right?”

 

 

 

 

Yuta isn’t an idiot. Well, sometimes he is, but that’s mainly when he’s under too much stress or has drank tequila by accident – or because Sicheng has dared him to. In short, Yuta isn’t delusional enough to suppose Taeyong’s attitude towards him is going to change from one day to another. Taeyong doesn’t shower him in kisses in the morning or makes him breakfast, like he used to, and mostly sticks to Youngho. At first, it doesn’t bother him, because he is used to be the third wheel in their house, and after all, he has been crashing at Ten’s apartment for several days. Returning to his own house gives him odd vibes, caused by the ephemeral glances stolen between him and Taeyong, moments of intimacy that neither of them could deny. They function like that, in long silences and dilated pupils, but it doesn’t upset Yuta.

 

However, when Taeyong opens his mouth, it is to shoot Yuta down and bury him five feet under. If Yuta asks him to buy groceries, he answers Sicheng should do it. If Yuta compliments him, Taeyong remarks that he must be telling those nice things to Sicheng too. But often Taeyong has to cover his lips with his hand, and Yuta suspects there’s an embarrassing, beautiful smile behind it. Taeyong is just toying with him.

 

Yuta doesn’t surrender. First, because he adores the way Taeyong freezes for a second when he praises him; second, because he can’t control his own mouth. Therefore, one morning in which he wakes up uncharacteristically early, and finds Taeyong in the kitchen only in an oversized t-shirt, he’s unable to hold back a, “How can you be this pretty?”

 

Taeyong hasn’t detected his presence until now, given that he jumps back, the glass of water almost sliding out of his grasp. With round eyes, he stares at Yuta as though he’s facing a ghost, but it only takes him a few seconds to compose himself.

 

“But not as pretty as Sicheng, right?” he fires back, raising a brow at him.

 

Instead of acknowledging the provocation, Yuta drums his fingers on the counter, pretending he’s debating within. Every time Taeyong attacks him with one of those questions, Yuta opts for reassuring him. So, tired of playing this game, Yuta responds instead, “Of course not.”

 

Speechless, Taeyong gazes at him in shock, lips parting. If he was getting over his hatred towards Sicheng, for sure he regains all of it back in that moment. He sets the glass on the counter with a harsh bang, and growls, “Do you want to die?”

 

“Do you want me to die?” Yuta bats his eyelashes at him with fake innocence. Then, he places a hand on his own chest, solemn. “Because you’re killing me.”

 

“It’s too early for this, Yuta.”

 

Yuta should be a bit more decent, but it’s not his fault Taeyong is so _distracting_. The t-shirt barely reaches his thighs, and he can’t help but to stare at them. And those are delicious thighs, which Taeyong keeps hidden even in summer, thus Yuta isn’t ready to defend himself.

 

“You’re right,” he hears himself agreeing, eyes immovable. Just when Taeyong coyly juts his thighs together, Yuta manages to look up at his face, where he finds the slightest hint of a blush. “We should go back to bed. And I mean _we_ , together.”

 

If that’s a shocking proposition, Taeyong doesn’t show it. He inspects Yuta with calculating eyes, though his awkward stance diminishes his seriousness. “That’s not-” he begins, unsure. His stare wanders from Yuta to the counter as he mutters, “If Youngho realizes…”

 

There’s no room for interpreting that as a refusal. If Youngho is the problem, then there is no problem. Yuta is already walking towards Taeyong’s bedroom as he blabbers he didn’t mean it like that, a stuttering mess that is far from fitting someone like Taeyong, a perfectly decent boy. But after a few seconds, Taeyong follows with a soft groan and frowns when he finds Yuta getting under his sheets without any shame.

 

“Come here,” Yuta demands with an annoying grin. He pats the little spot he has left on the bed, on purpose just so that Taeyong will be closer to him. Recognizing the seed of doubt, Yuta hurries to vow, “I swear we can pretend this didn’t happen.”

 

Taeyong nods, but both of them are aware that’s not true. There are things that they won’t ever be able to erase, and this is one of them. Just like they can’t ignore their feelings for each other, despite hurting because of them, Yuta isn’t going to forget that how Taeyong looks in that instant, when he huddles against him. It’s odd that it’s Taeyong who hugs him first, his arms holding him like Yuta is the one who needs the reassurance. His fingers brush his hair as Yuta presses his face against Taeyong’s chest.

 

“You make everything so complicated,” Taeyong laments with a sigh.

 

Yuta can’t contradict him. Taeyong left the path open long ago, but that seemed so simple that he was afraid it was a trap. He took a detour instead, the worst one, because it wasn’t possible that someone loved him in a sincere, unselfish way.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and he doesn’t remember if it’s the first time he’s apologizing, but it feels like it is. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Taeyong doesn’t react. Perhaps he has dug so much into Yuta’s personality that he anticipates his words, his acts, and if that’s the case, Yuta doesn’t understand why he hasn’t escaped yet. He’s a mess of a person, right? And Taeyong has all his aims in life clear and decided, doesn’t hesitate when he wants something, and as he has proved, he’s brave enough to risk their friendship, to be in pain or whatever it takes them to be together.

 

“It’s fine, Yuta,” he assures in the end, pressing a kiss on his forehead.

 

 

 

 

Although Yuta often pretends to be oblivious of his friends’ situations, that doesn’t mean he is. He’s the asshole, the insensitive one from whom you wouldn’t expect support. But some of his friends know that he doesn’t work like that, and therefore when Ten needs to rant, he doesn’t care about Yuta’s famous, assumed lack of tact. That, or he’s decent enough to not whine to his cousin Taeil about how much he wants to have sex with Youngho.

 

Yuta supposes Ten is going to have a serious talk with him, given that he doesn’t invite Sicheng to tag along. But then, when they’re in the cinema, trying to pick a movie to watch, Yuta discards that idea. Ten isn’t as animated as usual, not upset  either, but only grouchy.

 

“Bring him to me,” he moans for the ninth time, pretty uninterested in which movie Yuta has chosen. “He’s avoiding me.”

 

“Are you that horny?” Yuta jokes, pulling a face. However, he allows Ten to cling onto his arm like a kid whose mother doesn’t want to give him sweets. “Did you approach him again?”

 

For a moment, Ten glares at him, no need to voice out that Yuta is a fool. But then he pouts and mumbles, “I can’t approach him. He hurt my pride. And anyway, I’m asking you to bring him? That’s a way of approaching him.”

 

It’s Ten’s sad face what convinces him to not roll his eyes and refuse. Youngho isn’t dealing with it in a healthy way either, but Yuta wouldn’t inform Ten about that. Of course, all this is Youngho’s fault, and Yuta isn’t the best matchmaker they could have, but he’s the only one who is disposed to help. Taeyong is unconditionally on Youngho’s side, Sicheng would screw things up further, Hansol’s ways are too violent and Taeil prefers to be blind at his cousin love life.

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Yuta gives in with a sigh. Youngho isn’t going to listen to him just because Yuta tries him to, so he has to strain his brain to come up with some type of bribe. It’s worth it because immediately Ten’s mood changes, a bright grin where the pout was a second ago. “Last chance, and then you’re on your own.”

 

Ten laughs so hard at Yuta’s serious tone that he scares the lady ahead of them in the line for the tickets. After a short apology, he tiptoes to whisper into Yuta’s ear, “I’ll grab his dick, then.”

 

 

 

 

Like another usual Friday night, Yuta discovers the two losers he has as housemates on the couch. He’s pretty sure both of them have spent the whole day inside, although it was sunny outside, and Yuta will never comprehend why they wouldn’t take advantage of it.

 

Youngho is focused on one of his books, and Taeyong has his head on his lap, his fingers quickly moving over his phone screen. Even if it leaves an uncomfortable feeling in Yuta’s chest, he admits they share a friendship that Yuta would like to experience at least once. Taeyong looks so content and calm thanks to Youngho, and Yuta doubts he can ever induce such happiness in him.

 

“You’re impossible,” Yuta complains, eyes on Youngho in an attempt to ignore how jealous he feels right now.

 

His friends glower at him, Youngho in reproach and Taeyong with disapproval. There’s no hint of the boy who cuddled him back to sleep days ago, yet Yuta knows it wouldn’t take much effort to strip him of that pretense.

 

“You go hang out with your boyfriend,” Taeyong spits at him, possessively brushing his cheek against Youngho’s leg. “The adults are having their time alone here.”

 

Despite being conscious that Taeyong is playing with him right now, getting on his nerves so that Yuta breaks down, he’s not patient enough to deal with him. He drops his bag on the floor, next to Youngho’s, and walks towards them with his hands on his hips.

 

“Taeyong, be a good friend and don’t allow him to confine himself at home,” he chides, though it’s strange to act mature in front of someone who bosses him around daily.

 

“I’m not his mom,” Taeyong bites back. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from his phone screen, however, and Yuta identifies that as a sign of resignation. “Also, Ten could stop being a chicken too and come to suck his dick. I don’t get why it has to be Youngho.”

 

Yuta isn’t shocked at such language. He has heard worse things escaping Taeyong’s mouth when he’s drunk or half asleep. He cherishes the courteous part of Taeyong’s personality, but he absolutely adores when Taeyong displays his untamed self; perfection doesn’t exist, yet that transforms Taeyong into an even more admirable creature in Yuta’s eyes.

 

“Because he’s the one who always ruins everything?” he reasons.

 

Youngho gasps, offended. “I’m still here, thank you.”

 

“I don’t care, you see, because you are accompanying me tonight.”

 

There’s irrefutable fright on Youngho’s expression for a second. Yuta doesn’t pity him, because he has no reasons to be afraid considering how much Ten loves him. It’s a fight against himself, again, just like Yuta’s is too.

 

“I’m not,” he croaks out, eyes round like marbles.

 

“You don’t even know what I’m doing tonight.”

 

“I bet Sicheng,” Taeyong mutters, and both Youngho and he laugh, not minding that Yuta is so miserable about that.

 

But he disregards that jab, since Taeyong is using the exactly same fact as a weapon that could destroy him if Yuta wielded it. He has been forgiven for his mistake, all of them actually, but Taeyong won’t forget it soon. Yuta doesn’t want him to do it, and he hopes someday he can be proud of how many obstacles they went through.

 

“I’m meeting Ten and, yes, Sicheng too.” It makes him anxious to talk about Sicheng in Taeyong’s presence, and suddenly he feels his mouth dry, words stuck. He has no option but stare at Youngho, erasing the thought that Taeyong is observing him with those dark, beautiful eyes of his. “And you’re coming with me because I took your laptop, with all your uni papers and books and everything, and I’m not giving it back unless you obey.”

 

“You robbed me?!” Youngho exclaims, scandalized, sitting up so fast that Taeyong yelps in pain for the sudden position.

 

Instead of answering, Yuta walks away as fast as he’s able to. He would have stayed a bit more to tease Youngho, yet there’s a perturbing sensation inside of him, like hands tearing his skin apart. He’s familiar with it, but he has practiced enough to push away the memory of his parents, the correlation of how much he loves Taeyong with how he’s going to lose his family for it. He has to remind himself that, unlike his parents, Taeyong loves and cares for him, and he has all the power to make him happy or to pulverize him.

 

 

 

 

Perhaps Ten didn’t have that much faith in Yuta’s skills to persuade Youngho, because he seems absolutely shocked when they step into the bar. It’s hilarious how Youngho tenses up as soon as they meet gazes, but before Yuta can calm him down, Taeyong is already murmuring something that does the job.

 

It’s just Sicheng and Ten waiting for them, which makes Yuta suppose that Taeil and Hansol are spending their own time alone – the day Youngho realizes his best friend hasn’t told him who he wants to bang, he’s going to be traumatized. Either way, Yuta is always the fastest to catch up with others’ relationships.

 

Thanks to Sicheng, who rushes to give Youngho a sonorous kiss on the forehead, the tension dissolutes, though not completely. Yuta makes sure he sits between Taeyong and Sicheng, since he fears another incident takes place again, like the last time they hung out together.

 

Their friends are already bullying Ten by the time Yuta pays them attention, so he joins the fun. He isn’t sure when the things divert and become a discussion about Ten and Youngho’s love life, but then Ten is confessing he was dating someone two months ago. And Youngho is mad. Jealous. And though Yuta attempts to lift some weight off their shoulders with a casual comment, they spiral down so fast that it’s to no use.

 

Yuta should have seen it coming, but he didn’t: Youngho and Ten leave, maybe to sort the fight out, maybe to spoil their relationship further. With those topics, one can never know the outcome. The real problem now for him is that he’s abandoned again with Taeyong and Sicheng, a bothersome silence expanding around them.

 

Much to his surprise, Taeyong slips his hand under the table, searching for Yuta’s fingers. When Yuta spins his head to stare at him, there isn’t any expression on his face, no worry or flushed cheeks or annoyance for Sicheng’s presence.

 

A lump grows in Yuta’s throat, insecurity invading him, and he’s only able to send Sicheng a look. His friend doesn’t understand at first, delicately furrowing his eyebrows at him, but a few seconds later he has to repress a smile, recognizing the agitation in Yuta.

 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Sicheng lies, standing up so fast that he nearly knocks his drink over.

 

As soon as he fades away, mingling with the rest of clients, Taeyong releases a nervous sigh. Or maybe a sigh of relief, Yuta doesn’t distinguish it. He squeezes Taeyong’s hand, however, and feels like laughing out of the blue. But Taeyong doesn’t say anything. He just keeps their hands together, in silence, glancing at Yuta like he’s a new undiscovered specimen.

 

Yuta’s skin itches, not in a bad way. It’s the excitement travelling along his body, his limbs, Taeyong’s warmth swelling and infecting all of him.

 

“Holding hands is nice, but I seriously want you to hold something else,” Yuta whispers, half joking, half serious.

 

He’s expecting Taeyong to hit him, but the boy simply snickers at the insinuation and protests with a low, “Yuta!”

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, though he doesn’t regret having put a smile on Taeyong’s face. How long has it been since Taeyong looked this happy? “I had to.”

 

It’s evident Taeyong doesn’t mind that much. He leans his head on Yuta’s shoulder, and Yuta shivers at how his hair tickles his neck. Even if they snuggled days ago and felt their bodies pressed against each other, it’s little gestures like this one which turn Yuta’s world upside down.

 

“I don’t want to be here,” Taeyong reveals, a tinge of shyness seeping through his voice. He laughs a breathy laugh bit before adding, “I want to be at home. With you.”

 

If Taeyong had punched him in the stomach, it would have had the same effect. For a moment, Yuta is frozen, too dumbstruck to digest the suggestion. He was certain that it was up to Taeyong to take the next step, but now that he has done, a part of him doesn’t believe it. “You’re getting my hopes up.”

 

Taeyong detaches himself just to gaze at him, still from up close, with a childish, pure smile that blooms on his lips. He brushes Yuta’s hair out of his eyes, fingertips fondly caressing him, and assures, “You should get your hopes up.”

 

Whatever that veiled protocol they have says, Yuta doesn’t obey it. Perhaps kissing in a bar isn’t the most romantic occasion, but it’s clear Taeyong doesn’t care: when Yuta leans forward, seizing his lips, Taeyong responds without missing a beat, grabbing the back of his head. Yuta remembers the chaste peck that Taeyong granted him long ago, but that’s far from what Taeyong does now. He’s the first to part his lips, the first to lick into Yuta’s mouth, the first to moan when Yuta tugs at his tongue in the _right_ way. He grips Yuta’s head, not allowing him any break, and groans if Yuta tries to breathe some air, lurching to nip his lower lip as a punishment.

 

Taeyong’s lips aren’t decorous by the time they pull apart. They are red and swollen, and he’s panting slightly, chest moving heavily. That’s a sight Yuta can’t bear, and before he makes an even more daring move, Taeyong is already sliding his slender fingers between Yuta’s legs. There’s no trace of shame in the way he touches Yuta’s crotch, prodding fingers feeling his half hard cock through the jeans.

 

“Shit, Taeyong,” he protests, though he’s not exactly displeased. He laughs a hoarse laughter, and reminds him, “Let’s go home first.”

 

Despite how logical that request is, Taeyong grumbles, “I want to fuck you _now_.”

 

Not even in his lewdest scenarios would have Yuta imagined Taeyong whispering that to him. His legs tremble, his mind becomes blank, and for a long minute, he forgets Taeyong deserves better than a cheap bar to have sex. It’s difficult to convince Taeyong to stop, especially because Yuta’s own hard-on doesn’t let much space for reasoning, but he manages by reminding him that they live nearby.

 

By the time Yuta is fumbling with the keys, Taeyong has become impatient enough to push him against the entrance door. Not minding they’re in the street, and any of the neighbors could catch them groping each other right in front of their house, Taeyong sucks on his neck from behind, hips caging Yuta against the door. At first, Yuta laughs, though he can’t tell if it’s because he’s nervous or because the situation is actually funny. But then Taeyong shoves him so hard against the door that Yuta yelps in shock, and Yuta realizes that it’s not funny at all for the other.

 

“Open the door, or we’re fucking right here,” Taeyong assures him, arms hugging his waist. His lips trace the pattern of Yuta’s shoulder muscles, an inevitable path back to his neck. “I’m not joking.”

 

As though Taeyong preferred it that way, he bothers Yuta as he unlocks the door, nipping and licking and drawing short pants out of his mouth. Yuta isn’t conscious of what’s happening, not when they crash against the couch, lips devouring each other’s and hands tugging at clothes.

 

By some miracle, they reach Taeyong’s bedroom before any of them is completely naked, but it’s Yuta who has lost more clothes on the way due to Taeyong’s eagerness. There’s no worry, of course, because Taeyong drinks in the view of his body, and Yuta thinks of himself as important for the first time after in his life. His eyes shine in appreciation, but it’s not only physical: Taeyong gazes at him as if he’s the most beautiful person in the world, as if he adores him, and Yuta crumbles under the power of that sensation.

 

Taeyong touches him with a familiarity Yuta has never found in any other boy. With him, Yuta feels secure, protected. He’s not a way of escaping, of rebelling or drowning other harmful thoughts. It seems too good to be true, and as Taeyong slides his underwear down, his hard cock curving upwards, Yuta doesn’t have time to ponder if he deserves him or not. Taeyong _wants_ him, and that’s all that matters.

 

For once, Yuta is pliant and obedient during sex. He begs when Taeyong fucks him too slow, when he takes too long preparing him, when Taeyong isn’t leaving marks all over him, but he never takes the lead, aware that Taeyong needs to have the control for once. They don’t rush, bodies rubbing against each other until there are sweat and low groans, Taeyong mumbling arousing words over his neck. And then there are hoarse moans, kisses that became parted, petrified lips open in pleasure, and Yuta surrounds Taeyong’s hips with his legs, keeping him as close as possible. He doesn’t know who comes first, he’s just full of Taeyong, bliss washing over him with every minimal move, and everything is white when Yuta comes, Taeyong’s voice praising him for his _good_ behavior. But Taeyong kisses him sweetly when it comes to an end, panting and laughing, too wrecked to tell him that he loves him.

 

 

 

 

Taeyong is stroking his hair when Yuta wakes up, lying on his side, his elbow sinking in the mattress. He smells good, of fresh water and Yuta’s shampoo, and compared to him, Yuta feels sticky and dirty. In the good sense of the words, however, because it was Taeyong who made him like that.

 

“Youngho isn’t back yet,” Taeyong informs him with a coy smile. He doesn’t draw back, unafraid, and an odd warmth is born in Yuta’s stomach. Taeyong is staring at him with an adoration that he has never received, at least not in such a bold, direct way. “There’s no rush.”

 

Yuta closes his eyes, limbs relaxing again, and enjoys how Taeyong continues caressing him. He treats him with care, in contrast with last night, and Yuta loves that sensation, having someone who knows how fragile he can be at times, too.

 

“Do you regret it?” he asks, after all, because that’s not a crazy idea. Taeyong has resisted for months, certain that Yuta would walk away after they slept together, and Yuta is smart enough to suspect there might still be some of those thoughts left within him.

 

“No,” Taeyong replies right away, almost as if pondering about the question would be offensive. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

Yuta isn’t trying to be stupid, but sometimes it’s hard to get rid of the insecurities that Taeyong brings about him. It’s not his fault, of course, it’s just that he has hurt Taeyong so much that Yuta feels the duty to make him happy, no matter what, to compensate. As he sits up on the bed, sheets gliding down his torso, Taeyong raises a brow at him as a silent question.

 

“To be honest, I planned to take it slow because I didn’t want to fuck up,” Yuta confesses, much to his own embarrassment. He assumed they would have to date for a while before having sex, and even if last night isn’t a mistake, it isn’t an ideal situation either. “But we skipped a few steps, I think.”

 

Instead of agreeing with him, Taeyong immediately scoffs, a grin plastered on his face. For some reason, Yuta already predicts the words before Taeyong confirms them. “We are going to take it slow,” he whispers, pushing Yuta so that he rests back on the bed. Then, he drapes a leg over him and sits onto him, hands pressed on Yuta’s abdomen. The other can’t help but to observe how pretty Taeyong looks on top of him, bathed in the morning light, with that mischievous smile perched on his lips. “Consider this your farewell to sex in a while.”

 

 

 

 

Taeyong keeps his promise, much to Yuta’s dismay. And that’s not his only problem, because as soon as Youngho is told they are dating – which happens on the same day they start, thanks to Taeyong’s inability to lie – he becomes grumpy. Of course, Yuta has his own strategies to lure Youngho, some that don’t imply playing the pitiful card, but imply being cute to him. This change of manners seem to amuse Taeyong, however, who doesn’t waste a second to pinch his cheeks or coo at them when Yuta tries to snuggle Youngho on the couch, or makes breakfast for him, or gives him loud kisses on the cheek.

 

As if not being able to touch Taeyong whenever and however Yuta wants to wasn’t torturous enough, he has to deal with Ten and Youngho being mushy all over the apartment. It’s also burdensome that the four of them have, to begin with, the exact same date for future anniversaries.

 

“Should we break up then?” Taeyong jokes when Yuta points it out childishly. “We can break up today and start dating tomorrow. Does my boy want his own anniversary that much?”

 

It’s way different to be treated as Taeyong’s boyfriend rather than as his friend. While Taeyong has always been tender and caring to his friends, his gestures towards Yuta turn more physical. _My boy_ sounds intimate, not just tender. When Taeyong runs his fingers through his hair, Yuta can’t help but to lean into his touch; they are different persons when they are together, or at least Yuta is. His armor is down if Taeyong’s lips brush against his, if Taeyong buys him a gift by surprise because _it reminded me of you_ , but Yuta is suddenly aware of how bad he is at relationships. He has no idea of how to express his feelings, how to show Taeyong that he loves him.

 

Taeyong seems to understand he’s struggling, anyhow. He’s the first to approach him when Yuta lingers around in hesitation, afraid of crossing the lines, the first one to introduce himself as Yuta’s boyfriend when Yuta isn’t sure if they’re _that_ official. The only way Yuta can verbalize his gratitude is by revealing his secrets to Taeyong, on those nights in which Ten and Youngho decide to spend the night at Ten’s, and Yuta isn’t afraid to be heard. Taeyong never comments on his stories, he limits himself to stroke Yuta’s hair, nose, jaw, and smiles at him when Yuta stutters, tongue tied. He listens until Yuta has run out of words

 

With that lack of reaction, Yuta is beyond shocked when Taeyong returns from class one afternoon, kisses him on the mouth as a greeting, and slips a card next to the bowl of cereals Yuta is eating. When he peeks at the card, he immediately freezes, and it’s difficult to stare at Taeyong as he sits by his side, a relaxed smile on his face.

 

Although Yuta recognizes what the card is about, he still asks, “What is this?”

 

Taeyong doesn’t display any sign of worry, almost like he expects the question. “Therapy,” he confirms.

 

Yuta should have predicted this would happen, sooner or later. Believing his problems would fade away by themselves is irrational, and believing Taeyong would be able to make them vanish is even worse. As if Yuta hadn’t put enough pressure on the relationship from the beginning.

 

He’s aware Taeyong only means well and is trying to help him, yet the words escape Yuta’s mouth before he realizes they might hurt Taeyong, “Do I bother you… when I tell you about my life?”

 

As he dares to look up at Taeyong, he finds him with his mouth half open, petrified. It proves his sincerity, his pure intentions, how much Yuta doesn’t deserve him.

 

“Yuta, I _love_ you. You could never bother me,” he whispers in incredulity.  He snatches the card from Yuta’s hand, eyebrows furrowed, probably pondering about what he did wrong. His fingers hook around it, bending the corners, a hint of embarrassment for what he has tried.

 

Uneasy, Yuta begins, “I didn’t m-”

 

“But there are things you aren’t telling me,” Taeyong cuts him off, eyes avoiding Yuta’s, a knot in his throat. “Things that you can’t tell me, for some reason, even if you want to.”

 

Taeyong is right, as always. He’s the rock Yuta leans on when he can’t walk anymore, the person who holds his hand when he needs it, when no one else has realized he’s about to crumble down. He’s there if Yuta is lost, unable to know what’s better for him, like a light that leads him to the exit he has been searching for years. Yuta is aware he can’t trust himself sometimes, that certain thoughts invade him and pull him towards destruction; when he reaches for the card, it’s not because he doesn’t want to upset Taeyong. It’s because he has to, if he wishes to become a better boyfriend, someone who won’t hurt himself or others. Once, Yuta told Taeyong he wasn’t broken, but both of them knew it was a lie.

 

Taeyong allows him to observe the card, cautious. It’s difficult for Yuta to admit he needs the therapy, so they stay in silence for a few seconds, until Yuta asks, “How did you find it?”

 

Yuta doesn’t flinch away when Taeyong  scoots closer to brush his bangs out of his eyes. It’s a small gesture, but there’s so much tenderness in how Taeyong touches him that Yuta feels sheltered. Loved.

 

“My mother has a few friends who work in the field,” he explains, smiling as Yuta glances at him.

 

The shock that takes over Yuta isn’t consequence of how Taeyong may have revealed his problems to someone else. He wouldn’t. But then an idea is born in his mind, and as crazy as it seems for him, he still mutters, “Your mother knows I exist?”

 

Mildly amused at the quick change of topic, and perhaps at Yuta’s skeptical expression, Taeyong replies, “If you’re asking if my parents know I’m dating you, _yes_ , they do.”

 

The concept is so foreign to him, so odd that Yuta is only able to stare at Taeyong in surprise. He has never been the type that one would introduce to his parents, “I can’t believe you talked about me to your parents.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Taeyong defies him, cheeky. He traces Yuta’s nose with his index finger, grinning like an idiot, tearing a smile out of Yuta too. “You’re perfect. Anyone would show off.”

 

They should have realized the moment was too sureal for them, and therefore Youngho has to step into the kitchen in that exact second, face giving away that he has listened at least part of that sappy conversation.

 

“When is the wedding?” he mocks them, walking past them to get a yoghurt from the fridge. He’s in his pajamas, and considering the kind of things Yuta has heard him tell Ten in the past weeks, Youngho isn’t in any position to be making fun of them.

 

Taeyong groans, bothered by the interruption, “Shut up, Youngho.”

 

However, none of them separate a single inch from each other while Youngho is present, no trace of embarrassment for their behavior. Yuta holds back the need of kissing Taeyong until Youngho is out of the kitchen, however, leaving them alone again; but Taeyong must have the same idea, because all of a sudden Taeyong’s mouth is on his.

 

“Thank you, baby,” Yuta mutters in a low voice. For the therapy. For caring about him. For believing in him. But Taeyong already knows all of that, and he has assured Yuta a thousand times that he isn’t doing him any favor. Yuta still has to learn that some acts are completely altruistic, and Taeyong will never ask for something in return.

 

“You’re welcome,” Taeyong whispers, breath caressing Yuta’s lips. Threading his fingers in Yuta’s hair, weighing his silence, he displays the beginning of a smirk, “Are you going to cry?”

 

Although Yuta was, indeed, a bit sensitive a second ago, he moans at the teasing. It’s shameful how easily Taeyong could make him cry, since Yuta isn’t used to get neither praises nor abrupt I love you’s. “Fuck you,” he whines.

 

Taeyong hums, lips slightly touching Yuta’s, “I thought you would never ask.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you read everything, a cookie. If you know where the title comes from, another cookie. (If you hate Yuta, cookies cancelled)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/renjucas)!  
> [Commissions](https://twitter.com/renjucas/status/1013749339364249600)


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